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"My nose itched - and I knew I should drink wine or kiss a fool." - Jonathan Swift, "The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this - at any time - it can be quietly led." - Edgar Allan Poe, “I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation” - William Shakespeare, Ding Dong, She nose that he nose that she nose that he nose that she nose - don'tchya know.
The Dong with a luminous Nose by Edward Lear
When awful darkness and silence reign
Over the great Gromboolian plain,
Through the long, long wintry nights; —
When the angry breakers roar
As they beat on the rocky shore; —
When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights
Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore: —
Then, through the vast and gloomy dark,
There moves what seems a fiery spark,
A lonely spark with silvery rays
Piercing the coal-black night, —
A Meteor strange and bright: —
Hither and thither the vision strays,
A single lurid light.
Slowly it wander, — pauses, — creeps, —
Anon it sparkles, — flashes and leaps;
And ever as onward it gleaming goes
A light on the Bong-tree stems it throws.
And those who watch at that midnight hour
From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Cry, as the wild light passes along, —
“The Dong! — the Dong!
“The wandering Dong through the forest goes!
“The Dong! the Dong!
“The Dong with a luminous Nose!”
Long years ago
The Dong was happy and gay,
Till he fell in love with a Jumbly Girl
Who came to those shores one day.
For the Jumblies came in a sieve, they did, —
Landing at eve near the Zemmery Fidd
Where the Oblong Oysters grow,
And the rocks are smooth and gray.
And all the woods and the valleys rang
With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang, —
“Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and the hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.
Happily, happily passed those days!
While the cheerful Jumblies staid;
They danced in circlets all night long,
To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,
In moonlight, shine, or shade.
For day and night he was always there
By the side of the Jumbly Girl so fair,
With her sky-blue hands, and her sea-green hair.
Till the morning came of that hateful day
When the Jumblies sailed in their sieve away,
And the Dong was left on the cruel shore
Gazing — gazing for evermore, —
Ever keeping his weary eyes on
That pea-green sail on the far horizon, —
Singing the Jumbly Chorus still
As he sate all day on the grassy hill, —
“Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and the hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.
But when the sun was low in the West,
The Dong arose and said;
— “What little sense I once possessed
Has quite gone out of my head!” —
And since that day he wanders still
By lake and dourest, marsh and hills,
Singing — “O somewhere, in valley or plain
“Might I find my Jumbly Girl again!
“For ever I’ll seek by lake and shore
“Till I find my Jumbly Girl once more!”
Playing a pipe with silvery squeaks,
Since then his Jumbly Girl he seeks,
And because by night he could not see,
He gathered the bark of the Twangum Tree
On the flowery plain that grows.
And he wove him a wondrous Nose, —
A Nose as strange as a Nose could be!
Of vast proportions and painted red,
And tied with cords to the back of his head.
— In a hollow rounded space it ended
With a luminous Lamp within suspended,
All fenced about
With a bandage stout
To prevent the wind from blowing it out; —
And with holes all round to send the light,
In gleaming rays on the dismal night.
And now each night, and all night long,
Over those plains still roams the Dong;
And above the wail of the Chimp and Snipe
You may hear the squeak of his plaintive pipe
While ever he seeks, but seeks in vain
To meet with his Jumbly Girl again;
Lonely and wild — all night he goes, —
The Dong with a luminous Nose!
And all who watch at the midnight hour,
From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Cry, as they trace the Meteor bright,
Moving along through the dreary night, —
“This is the hour when forth he goes,
“The Dong with a luminous Nose!
“Yonder — over the plain he goes;
“He goes!
“He goes;
“The Dong with a luminous Nose!”
There’s nothing quite so amusing as sexual frustration . . . in others.
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You sound just like Oscar there H.
I like Kurt Vonnegut’s stance on it – “Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.” He may not have been specifically speaking of sex, but that matters not, for it fits like a glove.
One that needs a good wash by the sounds of it.
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“The dong with the luminous nose” – say no more.
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Dud: All right, then, Pete, are you?
Pete: Not too bad, you know, not too bad … Cheers.
Dud: What you been doing lately, then?
Pete: Well quiet, pretty quiet, not been up to much – I had a spot of the usual trouble the other day.
Dud: Oh, did you – what happened, then?
Pete: A spot of the usual trouble – well, I come home about half- past eleven – we’d been having a couple of drinks, remember? – I come home about half-past eleven, and, you know, I was feeling a bit tired, so, you know, I thought I’d go to bed, you know, take me clothes off, and so on, you know.
Dud: ‘Sright – well, don’t you take your clothes off BEFORE you go to bed?
Pete: Er – no, I made that mistake this time, got it the wrong way round – anyway, I got into bed, settled down, I was just about, you know, reading “The Swiss Family Robinson”.
Dud: Good, ain’t it.
Pete: It’s a lovely book, Dud, a lovely book – an’ I got up to about page 483, second paragraph, when suddenly – ‘bring, bring – bring, bring’.
Dud: What’s that?
Pete: That’s the ‘phone, going ‘bring, bring’. So I picked up the ‘phone, and – you know who it was?
Dud: Who?
Pete: Bloody Betty Grable. Calling transatlantic, bloody Betty Grable – I said, ‘look, Betty, what do you think you’re doing, calling me up half-past eleven at night?’ She said ‘It’s half-past two in the afternoon over here’. I said, ‘I don’t care what bloody time it is, there’s no need to wake ME up’. She said, ‘Peter, Peter – get on a plane, come dance with me, be mine tonight’.
Dud: I thought it was the middle of the afternoon?
Pete: Yes, what she probably meant was ‘be mine tonight tomorrow afternoon our time’.
Dud: No – didn’t she mean tomorrow afternoon – er …
Pete: Anyway, ‘Be mine tonight’ she said – I said, ‘Look, Betty – we’ve had our laughs, we’ve had our fun, but it’s all over’. I said, ‘Stop pestering me, get back to Harry James and his trumpet – stop pestering ME’ I said. I slammed the ‘phone down and said ‘Stop pestering me’.
Dud: Shouldn’t you have said ‘Stop pestering me’ BEFORE you put the ‘phone down? Pete: I should have, yes …
Dud: It’s funny you should say that, ‘cos a couple of nights ago, you remember, we had a couple of drinks …
Pete: I remember that, yes …
Dud: … and I came home, you know, I was going to bed, felt a bit tired – I was having a nightcap …
Pete: ‘Course you were …
Dud: … and I was just dropping off nicely, and all of a sudden I heard this hollering in the kitchen.
Pete: Hollerin’?
Dud: And screaming and banging on the door, you know, and I thought I must have left the gas on – so I go down there – I fling open the door – you’ll never guess – it’s bloody Anna Magnani, up to her knees in rice, screaming at me – ‘Lesse me entrate – amore me per favore!’
Pete: Italian.
Dud: Italian, yes – she was covered in mud, she grabbed hold of me, she pulled me all over the floor – she had one of them see-through blouses …
Pete: All damp, showing everything through it …
Dud: … Yes, and we rolled all over the floor – I hit her, I said ‘Get out of here! Get out of here, you Italian … thing!’ I said. ‘Get out of here’, I said …
Pete: ‘You Italian thing …’ a good thing to call her.
Dud: Yes … I said. ‘Don’t you come here and mess up MY rice again, mate’.
Pete: I should hope not. I had the same bloody trouble about three nights ago – I come in, about half-past eleven at night, we’d been having a couple of drinks I remember – and I come in, I get into bed, you see, feeling quite sleepy, I could feel the lids of me eyes beginning to droop – a bit of the droop in the eyes – I was just about to drop off, when suddenly, ‘tap, tap, tap’ at the bloody window pane – I looked out – you know who it was?
Dud: Who?
Pete: Bloody Greta Garbo! Bloody Greta Garbo – stark naked save for a shortie nightie. She was hanging on to the window sill, and I could see her knuckles all white … saying ‘Pieter, Pieter …’ you know how these bloody Swedes go on – I said ‘Get out of it!’ – bloody Greta Garbo. She wouldn’t go – she wouldn’t go, I had to smash her down with a broomstick, poke her off the window sill, she fell down on the pavement with a great crash …
Dud: She just had a nightie on, is that all?
Pete: That’s all she had on, Dud, just a …
Dud: See-through?
Pete: … a see-through, shortie nightie. Nothing else – except for her dark glasses of course. Dreadful business.
Dud: Well, it’s funny you should say that …
Pete: Yes, it’s funny I should say that.
Dud: … four nights ago, I come home, we’d been having a couple of drinks …
Pete: Couple of drinks, yes …
Dud: … I come home, I come through the door, and – sniff – sniff, sniff, I went – you know – funny smell, I thought, smells like wood burning …
Pete: Probably burning wood, Dud.
Dud: What’s that?
Pete: ‘Burning Wood’ – that’s a perfume worn by sensual, earthy women.
Dud: Funny you should say that, because I come in the bathroom, you know, I thought, ‘bit stronger here’, you know, ‘sfunny – I come in the bedroom – it’s getting ridiculous, this smell, you know, so I get into bed, you know, turn the covers back – it’s a bit warm in bed – I thought, ‘funny’, you know, being warm like that – and – I get into bed, I put out the light – and, I was just going off to kip – and suddenly I feel a hand on my cheek.
Pete: Which cheek was that, Dud? … Come on – which cheek was it?
Dud: It was the left upper. I said, I thought, you know, ‘funny’ … I turned on the light – bloody hand here, scarlet fingernails …
Pete: Who was it?
Dud: You’ll never guess – bloody Jane Russell.
Pete: Jane Russell?
Dud: Jane Russell, in bed with me, stark naked – I said ‘Jane’ …
Pete: With the huge …
Dud: With the things … I said, ‘Jane’, I said, ‘get out of here’ …
Pete: Get out …
Dud: ‘Get out of here’, I said, ‘you may be mean, moody and magnificent, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s all over’. So I threw her down – I took her out of bed, threw her down the stairs – I threw her bra and her – er – gauze panties after her, I threw them down … and the green silk scarf … I said ‘Get out of here! Get out of here, you hussy!’ … I threw her fag-holder – I threw a bucket of water over her, I said ‘Get out of here, you hussy!’ – I said, ‘don’t come in my bed again, mate, it’s disgusting!’ Terrible … I was shocked to the quick.
Pete: You’re quite right, you got to do something about these bloody women who pester you …
Dud: What you doing tonight, then?
Pete: Well … I thought we might go to the pictures.
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There is a vast sea of their conversations that I simply cannot post here without causing a riot. But I do hvae this one by Peter Cook which makes me laugh – which is more than I suspect he would have done in real life –
On learning Elizabeth Taylor’s glands were behind her weight issues he said – “Poor woman. There she is, in her suite in the Dorchester, harmlessly watching television. Suddenly her glands pick up the phone and order two dozen éclairs and a bottle of brandy. ‘No,’ she screams, ‘please, I beg you!’ but her glands take no notice. Determined glands they are, her glands. You’ve never known glands like them. The trolley arrives and Elizabeth Taylor hides in the bathroom, but her glands, her glands take the éclairs, smash down the door and stuff them down her throat. I’m glad I haven’t got glands like that. Terrible glands.”
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Even (I am sure) if this did not through some ‘Devilish Art’ (see my latest post, you’ll be glad you did) tell my own tale with all the sordid detail I imagined I quite well covered it would be more than plenty of reason to enjoy it as a whole for the author’s inclusion of ‘anon’.
The President and Founder
Not to be one to ‘linger longly’ upon my misfortunes, but if above were not enough below should most certainly discourage others who consider it
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I’m pleased to hear it. By which I mean both your enjoyment of the piece, and my own ‘actual hearing’ of the music secreted within the link, which begins eerily, and later, becomes superbly sleazy.
‘linger longly‘ you say? Then ‘dinger dongly‘ must follow, to tie in with the above poem.
Obviously.
And yes, I was.
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‘Dinger dongly’ indeed!
-The President and Founder
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